CHAPTER XV
THEY KILLED THE BOSS!
Sundown, much to his dismay, was lost. With a sack of salt tied acrosshis saddle, he had ridden out that morning to fill one of the salt-logsnear a spring where the cattle came to drink. He had found the log,filled it, and had turned to retrace his journey when a flock of wildturkeys strung out across his course. His horse, from which the ridersof the Concho had aforetime shot turkeys, broke into a kind ofreminiscent lope, which quickened as the turkeys wheeled and ranswiftly through the timberland. Sundown clung to the saddle-horn asthe pony took fallen logs at top speed. The turkeys made for a rim ofa narrow canon and from it sailed off into space, leaving Chance adisconsolate spectator and Sundown sitting his horse and thanking theArizona stars that his steed was not equipped with wings. It was thenthat he realized that the Concho ranch might be in any one of the fourdirections he chose to take. He wheeled the horse, slackened rein, andallowed that sagacious but apparently disinterested animal to pick itsleisurely way through the forest. Chance trotted sullenly behind. Hecould have told his master something about hunting turkeys had he beenable to speak, and, judging from the dog's dejected stride andexpression, speech would have been a relief to his feelings.
The horse, nipping at scant shoots of bunch-grass and the blue-floweredpatches of wild peas, gravitated toward the old trail to the Blue and,once upon it, turned toward home. Chance, refreshing his memory of theold trail, ran ahead, pausing at this fallen log and thatfungus-spotted stump to investigate squirrel-holes with much sniffingand circling of the immediate territory. Sundown imagined that Chancewas leading the way toward home, though in reality the dog was merelykilling time, so to speak, while the pony plodded deliberately down thehomeward trail.
Dawdling along in the barred sunshine, at peace with himself and thepleasant solitudes, Sundown relaxed and fell to dreaming of Andalusiancastles builded in far forests of the south, and of some SpanishPenelope--possibly not unlike the Senorita Loring--who waited hiscoming with patient tears and rare fidelity. "Them theretrue-be-doors," he muttered, "like Billy used to say, sure had the gladjob--singin' and wrastlin' out po'try galore! A singin'-man sure getsthe ladies. Now if I was to take on a little weight--mebby . . ." Hisweird soliloquy was broken by a sharp and excited bark. Chance wasstanding in the trail, and beyond him there was something . . .
Sundown, anticipating more turkeys, slid from his horse without delay.He stalked stealthily toward the quivering dog. Then, dropping thereins, he ran to Corliss, knelt beside him, and lifted his head. Hecalled to him. He ripped the rancher's shirt open and felt over hisheart. "They killed me boss! They killed me boss!" he wailed, risingand striding back and forth in impotent excitement and grief. He didnot know where to look for water. He did not know what to do. Asudden fury at his helplessness overcame him, and he mounted and rodedown the trail at a wild gallop. Fortunately he was headed in theright direction.
Wingle, Bud Shoop, and several of the men were holding a heatedconference with old man Loring when Sundown dashed into the Concho.Trembling with rage and fear he leaped from his horse.
"They killed the boss!" he cried hoarsely. "Up there--in the woods."
"Killed who? Where? Slow down and talk easy! Who's killed?" volleyedthe group.
"Me boss! Up there on the trail with his head bashed in! Chance andme found him layin' on the trail."
The men swung to their saddles. "Better come along, Loring," saidShoop, riding close to the old sheep-man. "Looks like they was more 'none side to this deal. And you, too, Sun."
The riders, led by the gesticulating and excited Sundown, swung out tothe road and crossed to the forest. Shoop and Hi Wingle spurred aheadwhile the others questioned Sundown, following easily. When theyarrived at the scene of the fight, Corliss was sitting propped againsta tree with Shoop and Wangle on either side of him. Corliss staredstupidly at the men.
"Who done it?" asked Wingle.
"Fadeaway," murmured the rancher.
Loring, in the rear of the group, laughed ironically.
Shoop's gun jumped from its holster and covered the sheep-man. "If oneof your lousy herders done this, he'll graze clost to hell to-nightwith the rest of your dam' sheep!" he cried.
"Easy, Bud!" cautioned Wingle. "The boss ain't passed over yet. Bill,you help Sinker here get the boss back home. The rest of you boys hitthe trail for the Blue. Fadeaway is like to be up in that country."
"Ante up, Loring!" said Shoop, mounting his horse. "I'll see your handif it takes every chip in the stack."
"Here, too!" chorused the riders. "We're all in on this."
They trailed along in single file until they came to the ford. Theyreined up sharply. One of them dismounted and dragged the body ofFadeaway to the bank. They grouped around gazing at the hole inFadeaway's shirt.
Shoop turned the body over. "Got it from in front," he said, which wasobvious to their experienced eyes.
"And it took a fast gun to get him," asserted Loring.
The men were silent, each visualizing his own theory of the fight onthe trail and the killing of Fadeaway.
"Jack was layin' a long way from here," said Wingle.
"When you found him," commented Loring.
"Only one hoss crossed the ford this morning," announced Shoop, wadingacross the stream.
"And Fade got it from in front," commented a puncher. "His tracks isheaded for the Blue."
Again the men were silent. Shoop rolled a cigarette. The splutter ofthe sulphur-match, as it burned from blue to yellow, startled them.They relaxed, cursing off their nervous tension in monosyllables.
"Well, Fade's played his stack, and lost. Jack was sure in the game,but how far--I dunno. Reckon that's got anything to do with stampedin'your sheep?" asked Wingle, turning to Loring.
Loring's deep-set eyes flashed. "Fernando reported that a Concho riderdone the job. He didn't say who done it."
"Didn't, eh? And did Fernando say anything about doin' a job himself?"asked Shoop.
"If you're tryin' to hang this onto any of my herders, you're ridin' onthe wrong side of the river. I reckon you won't have to look far forthe gun that got _him_." And Loring gestured toward the body.
Hi Wingle stooped and pulled Fadeaway's gun from its holster. He spunthe cylinder, swung it out, and invited general inspection. "Fadenever had a chance," he said, lowering the gun. "They's six pills inher yet. You got to show me he wasn't plugged from behind a rock orthem bushes." And Wingle pointed toward the cottonwoods.
One of the men rode down the canon, searching for tracks. Chance,following, circled the bushes, and suddenly set off toward the north.
Sundown, who had been watching him, dismounted his horse. "Chance,there, mebby he's found somethin'."
"Well, he's your dog. Go ahead if you like. Mebby Chance struck ascent."
"Coyote or lion," said Wingle. "They ain't no trail down them rocks."
Sundown, following Chance, disappeared in the canon. The men coveredFadeaway's body with a slicker and weighted it with stones. Then theysent a puncher to Antelope to notify the sheriff.
As they rode into the Concho, they saw that Corliss's horse was in thecorral. Their first anger had cooled, yet they gazed sullenly atLoring. They were dissatisfied with his interpretation of the killingand not a little puzzled.
"Where's Fernando?" queried Shoop aggressively.
Loring put the question aside with a wave of his hand. "Jest a minuteafore I go. You're tryin' to hang this onto me or mine. You're wrong.You're forgettin' they's five hundred of my sheep at the bottom of theConcho Canon, I guess. They didn't get there by themselves.Fadeaway's got his, which was comin' to him this long time. That'snothin' to me. What I want to see is Jack Corliss's gun."
Bud Shoop stepped into the ranch-house and presently returned with theCoitus. "Here she is. Take a look."
The old sheep-man swung out the cylinder and pointed with a gnarled andhorny finger. The men clos
ed in and gazed in silence. One of theshells was empty.
Loring handed the gun to Shoop. "I'll ask Jack," said the foreman.When he returned to the group he was unusually grave. "Says he pluggeda coyote this mornin'."
Loring's seamed and weathered face was expressionless. "Well, he did agood job, if I do say it," he remarked, as though to himself.
"Which?" queried Shoop.
"I don't say," replied Loring. "I'm lettin' the evidence do thetalkin'."
"Well, you'll hear her holler before we get through!" asserted theirrepressible Bud. "Fade, mebby, wa'n't no lady's man, but he hadsand. He was a puncher from the ground up, and we ain't forgettin'that!"
"And I ain't forgettin' them five hundred sheep." Loring reinedaround. "And you're goin' to hear from me right soon. I reckon they'slaw in this country."
"Let her come!" retorted Shoop. "We'll all be here!"
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